


You ain't got the guts

by Builder



Series: Creedless Assassins [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Gen, Mission Fic, Poisoning, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 18:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Sometimes Clint knows best.  Not often, but sometimes.





	You ain't got the guts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Autumn_Froste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Froste/gifts).



> Find me on Tumblr @builder051

“It’s hot,” Clint complains.  “We should go inside.”  He lets go of Nat’s sweaty hand and nods toward the row of shops across the street.

“It probably won’t be any better,” Nat says with a smirk.  “Most of Europe doesn’t have AC.”

“How can they stand it?”  Clint looks dumbfounded.  “It makes summer a miserable experience.”

“It’s not usually 85 degrees at 9 in the morning.  Blame global warming.”

“I will,” Clint mutters.  “We’re not bumming around outside all day again.  I’m gonna sweat to death.”

“You do know it’s this hot back home, right?  Paris isn’t the only place having a heat wave.”  Nat shakes her head.

“Considering that it’s about 4 am in DC right now, I highly doubt that.”  Clint crosses his arms.

“Ok, god…”  Irritation imbues Nat’s tone.  “Let’s get you some coffee before you bite my head off.  Withdrawal much?”

“I don’t want any fucking coffee.  It’s too goddamn hot.”

“Sorry.  Overruled.”  Nat grabs Clint’s elbow and drags him across the street.  “We’re sitting down and doping up until you get your attitude in check.”

“My attitude?  You’re the one bossing me around,” Clint protests.

“Shut up,” Nat says, opening the door to a café.

“Are you insane?  We were walking around all day yesterday.  Somebody has to have seen us and caught on—”

“To the fact that we’re gonna get divorced before this honeymoon is over?”  Nat puts on a saccharine grin.  She grabs Clint’s hand so their fake wedding rings clink together.  “You’ve gotta learn to admit defeat, babe.”

“Jesus Christ,” Clint mutters.  But he stops dragging his feet and follows Nat inside.

“Bonjour!”  Nat says brightly, waving at the girl behind the counter.  “Café au lait, s’il vous plaît.”  She looks at Clint.  “Deux cafés.”

“Uh, no.”  Clint reaches into the open drinks cooler and pulls out two bottles of water.  “Can’t be too careful, can we now, Sweet Pea?”  He gives Nat a hard look.  

“You’re thinking of Mexico.”  Nat rolls her eyes.  “The water’s safe here.”

“Nope.”  Clint grits his teeth.  “Just following protocol.”

“Fitting in with the locals outweighs your stupid safety tips every time.”  She’s aware she sounds dumber than a sorority girl, but Nat hopes Clint catches her drift.  “And if I have to keep putting up with you, at least one of us is getting coffee.”

Clint opens his mouth, then closes it again.  He puts one of the waters back and says, “It’s your funeral.”

“Un café,” Nat says to the barista.  She scoots the bottle of water across the counter.  “Et une bouteille d’eau.”

Clint reluctantly pulls out his wallet to pay, and they retreat to a table out on the sidewalk.  “I cannot believe it’s warmer in there than it is out here,” he mutters, breaking the seal on his water and taking a swig.  “How the hell can you stand a hot drink right now?”

Nat stirs her coffee and delicately lifts the cup.  “Willpower?”  She sips, then wipes foam from her upper lip.  “Caffeine addiction helps, too.”

“Hm.”  Clint refuses to meet her eyes.  “You think there’s any chance we can get a flight out tonight instead of tomorrow?”

Nat expects to feel herself perking up, but a sensation of lethargy settles over her body.  Sweat prickles across her forehead.  “Tired of vacation already?” Nat asks.  “Or tired of me?”  She takes another long draught of her coffee.  A strange aftertaste lingers on her tongue. She swallows again experimentally, but her throat goes tight and her jaw begins to tingle.

“I think we should get the marriage annulled.  Should be easy, since we haven’t fu—”

“Clint?”  Nat barely gets his name out before a gag tears out of her, forcing the coffee back up all over their table.

“Holy fuck.”  Clint jumps out of his seat and steps backward.

Nat presses her hand over her mouth to keep in the next wave, but it’s no use.  She vomits again, undigested breakfast spilling down the front of her shirt.

Clint gives her a disgusted look, but his eyes quickly dart to something over Nat’s shoulder.  “Shit.  Get down!” he yells, reaching across the table.

Nat ducks, but overbalances and ends up on hands and knees, helpless to the retches that keep forcing their way up her throat.  She turns her head a fraction of an inch as she sputters, and through her curtain of hair, she gets a glimpse of the barista pointing a gun at Clint.

There’s a crash as the table upends and Nat’s abandoned coffee cup smashes on the pavement.  Clint’s arm appears around Nat’s chest, blocking her as he pulls his concealed weapon from the back of his waistband and returns fire.

“Do you think you can move?” he yells at Nat over the sound of the gunshots.

Nat isn’t sure what she’s going to say, but another heave cuts her off before she can even try to speak.

“Sorry,” Clint says, hauling her to her feet.  “Overruled.”  

He keeps his arm around Nat and walks backwards, shooting until the barista finally falls.  “Ok,” Clint whispers, hastily sticking his gun in his back pocket.  He slips one arm under Nat’s knees and scoops her up.

“Oh, god, don’t,” Nat chokes.  Vertigo makes the scene swirl around her, and she coughs up a weak stream of bile that drips down her chin.

Clint pays it no mind.  “We have to get out of here.  There are gonna be more where she came from.”

“Yeah,” Nat breathes.  “Sorry.”

“I probably deserve it.”  Clint shrugs.  “But I’m right about things.  Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Nat echoes with the ghost of a smile.


End file.
